


All our days are numbered

by KristiLynn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, Death, Gen, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, goes au after season 2 finale, regular death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 14:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7511240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KristiLynn/pseuds/KristiLynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how the world ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All our days are numbered

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this in 2009 as part of the apocalyptothon over on LJ. I recently found it while going through some old files and decided to post it here.

_ There are things that drift away  
_ _ Like our endless numbered days _

**Iron & Wine, Passing afternoon**

Somewhere in China a girl, only seven years old, sneezed. Six hours later she and close to 40,000 others were dead.  
  
This is how the world ends.

 

~*~

 

Sam Winchester sat crouched over his laptop while his brother laid down on one of the two beds in their tiny hotel room.  
  
“There’s nothing here Dean,” Sam said looking up from the computer screen.  
  
It had been one month since the virus World Health Officials had named HGN4 had taken its first victim. Now, over two and a half million people had already died, and thousands more were in the process.  
  
“That can’t be,” Dean sat up, “There has to be something connecting all of these cases. Electrical storms. Cow mutilations. Something.”    
  
“There’s nothing. I hate to admit it but I don’t think there’s anything demonic about this one.”  
  
“Can’t be.”

 

~*~

 

They spent hours, days, weeks after that on the internet going from town to town that had been ravaged by the virus. There had to be a connection between the cases, something, anything, that wasn't reported. But nothing.  
  
“What did I say?” Sam asked with a smirk on his face, obviously trying to bring some kind of humor to the serious situation, “There’s nothing demonic about this. It’s just a regular plague.”  
  
“Shut up.” Dean shook his head and continued to drive.  
  
The supernatural, that he could handle. But normal things? Things like this? Now that scared the hell out of him.

 

~*~

 

It’s been six weeks since the virus arrived in the US. That day the world’s population had officially dropped in half from where it was before the virus appeared.  
  
The news was reporting that because of all that, they were running out of places to bury the dead so the government was ordering the bodies of all those who died, due to the virus or not, and their belongings, were to be burned.  
  
“At least that’s one thing we don’t have to worry about.”  
  
“Dean!” Sam scolded him.  
  
“I’m just saying could you imagine if this virus had some sort of 28 Days Later side effects we don’t know about? Everyone turning to zombies? We’d be shit out of luck.”  
  
Sam opened his mouth to respond, but instead he let out a loud sneeze.  
  
“Oh God,” He whispered. For once Dean just sat there, silent.  
  
On the bedside table John’s cell-phone began to ring.

 

~*~

 

It was an old hunting buddy on the phone. He told them about some honest to God demonic activity in Iowa that needed their attention, which was exactly what the boys needed right then. They quickly packed up and hit the open road.  
  
“Dean about earlier,” Sam said as they headed down the long stretch of highway 65.  
  
“Don’t Sam.”  
  
“We need to talk about it. What if I—“  
  
“Don’t!” Dean exclaimed, “It was just dust. That’s why you sneezed. And I’m not surprised, that room was disgusting. And that’s saying something coming from me.”  
  
“What if it wasn’t?”  
  
“You’re not sick, and you’re certainly not going to die. Now drop it.”  
  
And Sam did, but he was sick. Even before they got to where they were headed Sam began exhibiting other symptoms, and before they could reach a motel he had a fever of 103.

 

~*~

 

“Dean,” Sam coughed, trying to sit up.  
  
“Don’t try to talk,” Dean whispered blotting his forehead with a wet cloth, just like their mother used to do when he was sick as a child, like he used to do when Sam was young and sick, “You need to save your energy.”  
  
“You should go. Save yourself.”  
  
“Please,” Dean shook his head, “I’m already dead, so you’re stuck with me until--” Dean couldn’t finish the sentence, “You’re stuck with me.”  
  
Sam nodded his head and muttered a quiet, “I’m tired.”  
  
“Get some sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”  
  
Only Sam never did wake up. He died that night, holding on tightly to Dean’s hand. There was no bright light, no chorus of angels to lead him away in the end.   
  
But at least he wasn’t scared. Not like Dean.

 

~*~

 

Not to long ago it was Sam at Dean’s side when they burnt their father’s body. Now he didn’t have anyone by his side when he set Sam’s body on fire. It was just him.  
  
He was alone now.  
  
Everyone he loved was now dead.  
  
First his mom, then his dad. And now Sammy. He was the only one left.  
  
He shut down after that, locking himself away in the Impala or Motel rooms.  
  
Bobby, Ellen, even Jo tried to help, tried to get him back in the game, get him hunting again. But that didn’t help, without Sam by his side he didn’t feel like it was worth it. Nothing was worth it without Sam.  
  
“So what you’re just going to sit around here until you die?” Bobby asked.  
  
Dean shrugged. “Everyone dies Bobby.”

 

~*~

 

It had been six months since that first girl died. The population had now dwindled down to only a few thousand people, and the number was dropping quicker and quicker, day by day.  
  
And soon one more person would be gone.

 

~*~

 

The bedside clocked turned over from 11:59 to 12:00.  It had been one year since the first time Sam died in Dean’s arms. One year since Dean sold his soul. It was time.  
  
Dean could hear the hellhounds coming, feel then from miles away. Soon they’d be there, and he  was ready.  
  
He no longer felt scared.  
  
Death no longer scared him.   
  
Because Hell was nothing compared to the life he was now living.  
  
He could do this now.  
  
He could do this.   
  
Claws began to scratch at the motel room door. They were here.  
  
“Ok doggies,” he whispered into the darkness, “come and get me.”    
  
The door came crashing down to the ground. The hellhounds came rushing in.  
  
And then in only six seconds it was all over.

  
  



End file.
